


Home

by Mithlomi



Series: At the End of it All... [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Fluff of the fluffiest variety, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:10:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithlomi/pseuds/Mithlomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He returns to her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> A short, pointless drabble inspired by the fact that D'art is going to get his cloak soon and the new episode. Set post-series and imaging everything goes well... I make no excuses for this. I just wanted fluff and more D'Art/Constance goodness...

It is quiet as he climbs the stairs. Their creaking makes him flinch, unearthly loud in the dark and the small candle he holds simply casts his shadow, long and black against the wall.

It's dirty, this place. A stinking hovel in the cheapest part of Paris. Perhaps it is lucky that their rooms are above the rest, although he hates the idea that she must risk her life every day passing the brigands and thieves outside their door just to get back to her home.

She would smile and tell him he is being dramatic. She has his sword, remember?

He trusts her skill with a blade. He does not trust anyone else with her life...

He has been gone for much too long and he knows it. The mission took him far from Paris, as it often does, but she knew that. She tells him to be careful, come back safe and then she smiles. 

He can see that smile gets harder and harder every time.

And this time he is late. The task harder than expected and he has a new scar from a Spanish blade to prove it. She will berate him for it, smack his arm for being so careless. He will smile, because that is his Constance and then he will sigh when she lowers her lips to the damaged skin and there is no balm in the world quite so sweet...

It's that thought that drives him up the stairs, makes him forget his concerns, if only for a moment. One day he will take her away from this place. One day he will provide her with a home she can be proud of. He does not like to think of Jacques Bonacieux, but he will forever be jealous that he could give Constance what he cannot. His wages do not amount to much and the work she does, sewing and cooking and the like barely fills their empty bellies. She says she does not mind; she is with him and she is happy and that is all that matters, and while he knows it to be true...

She deserves the entire world and he wants to be the one to give it to her.

He pushes open the door to their small apartment. It is clean, of course. Constance lives here, and she will not tolerate any sign of dirt. She handles the broom just as she handles the blade, attacking with as much gusto as she does him during the lessons he still provides her with...

He smirks at the thought. The fact that these lessons now often end in their bed rather than in the field is perfectly fine with him.

The signs of her presence are everywhere. Her cloak by the door. Flowers on the table. Lavender wherever she can find a place for it. It is a scent that is light and refreshing and so completely her. God, he's missed her. Where is she? 

She is not in bed and the hour is late. He frowns, concern creeping up on him for a moment before he turns. There in the small corner by the single window that provides any sunlight to their humble abode. His Constance.

She is asleep, wrapped in a thin shawl that isn't enough to keep her warm on this mild night and he knows exactly what she was doing. Her concern is written in the furrow of her brow and he berates himself for letting her worry. For keeping her awake, anxiously awaiting for him. It is the peril of his trade, he knows, but he will never forgive himself for making her anything less than perfectly happy...

She shifts in her sleep and while he knows the chair cannot be comfortable, he cannot help but take a moment to admire her beauty. Her head had fallen to the side, the moonlight shining over her pale features. Her soft lips are parted slightly, and her auburn curls fall gently over her slender neck.  
His hand reaches out of it's own accord, brushing it away as softly as he can. He wonders how he can ever be away from her. She is perfect...

Why she has chosen him he will never understand. She is kindness and benevolence itself. And she loves him.

It is a thought that never fails to make him smile.

He has no desire to disturb her, so instead and quietly removes the blue cape of his garrison from his shoulders and drapes it over her frame. She will ache in the morning no doubt, from staying in such an awkward position, but he will carry her to bed and force her to stay there until she is properly rested.

For now, he gently brushes her soft tresses away from her face and lays the softest of kisses to her forehead. As quietly as he can, he moves away. The journey has made him thirsty and he needs to rest his tired limbs for a moment before meeting the others once more, reporting to Treville...

He does not hear her wake, nor creep up behind him. She is light on her feet, possesses a grace which means the aching floorboards do not react to her touch like they do with his boots. But he feels her arms wrap around his waist and she lays her head on his shoulder. She's almost falling against him, still lost in the haze of sleep and it does not take much effort to turn in her hold, and press her slender frame tight against his chest...

"You're home," she whispers, voice husky with sleep.

His gaze travels around the room. Their small bed, the pitiful excuse of a kitchen. The small table covered in washing that still needs to be returned to their owner. The one chair that she has recently vacated. The tiny window that lets in the meagre light.

He looks down at her, still wrapped in his blue mantle Soft and warm and utterly, impossibly his...

He lifts her chin and closes his eyes as he sighs against her lips.

"I'm home..."


End file.
